


The Chore Chart

by afteriwake



Series: nongentorum [24]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amused Molly, Chores, Cohabitation, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Happy Molly, Marriage Proposal, POV Molly, POV Molly Hooper, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Shocked Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7008952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Molly first moved in and it became obvious that the two of them had different feelings on how the chores should be divvied up, the obvious solution was to draw up a chart. But following the chart was apparently easier said than done...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chore Chart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaybeItsJustMyType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeItsJustMyType/gifts).



> So this fic was written as a (very) belated gift for my dear friend **MaybeItsJustMyType** , who I had told I would gift three fics to if she'd give me prompts. She couldn't come up with prompts so I told her to give me ships and she asked for three Sherlolly fics, and this is the first. The prompt I used came from **otp-imagines-cult** and went " _Imagine your OTP having a chart that says which chores they need to do on what days. Person A keeps doing chores on days that Person B is supposed to do them completely by accident._ " I hope you enjoy, hun!

“Did you do this on purpose?!” 

The phrase seemed to be a common one heard now that she had moved into Baker Street. She had thought with the state of the home and Mrs. Hudson’s insistence that she was not the housekeeper that there was never any _real_ cleaning done on any sort of schedule, that Sherlock did it whenever he felt like it, but she had soon learned otherwise. She had learned he had a schedule of what was cleaned when in his own head and her attempts to tidy up bristled against his schedule. So he had instituted a chore chart. He had even been gracious enough to take half the chores, and some of them the type that were menial labour and dirty and stuff she really didn’t want to do, upon himself.

And yet she still found herself doing them anyway.

Not to aggravate him, and not to upset the delicate balance of the chore chart. It was just that he’d get so occupied with a case that he’d forget, or she’d see it would need to get done sooner rather than later and she’d do it then rather than let it sit. Common courtesy and all. She’d rather have the flat be tidy than adhere to the rigidity of the chart.

She moved over to him and played with the collar of the shirt. “Dear, Mary and Jasmine were coming over and the flat needed to be tidied and I know it wasn’t my day but you were off with John so I did it.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek, giving him a smile when she pulled away. “Forgive me?”

He looked at her and then sighed, moving his hands to her waist. “You always know just what to do to get your way,” he said, moving his head to press a kiss to the bare space between her shirt collar and the hollow of her throat.

“Well, _you’re_ the one who insisted on chore days and yet you never follow the blasted thing, either,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Don’t think I don’t see you scrubbing the dishes in the sink when I pull a late shift at Barts and it was my day to do them.”

“You aren’t _supposed_ to see that,” he replied, moving his lips slightly.

“You aren’t the only one in this relationship with keen powers of observation,” she said with a smile.

“What if it were a marriage?” he asked.

She moved her hands till they were flat on his chest and pushed him away. He straightened up and she looked at him with wide eyes. “Marriage? You want to _marry_ me?” she asked.

He nodded slowly. “We’ve established we live well together, though we have our ups and downs, but we can work through them well enough. The sexual intercourse is superb. You’re a good cook, far better than Mrs. Hudson. And you tolerate me.”

“This isn’t the gushing, romantic proposal I was hoping for,” she said, crossing her arms.

He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. “I’ve run through what feels like nine hundred different proposals in my head, from the gushingly sappy to the cheekily sexy to most convoluted and none seemed to be quite right. So I thought simply stating the facts of why we would be well suited for each other would be best.” He sighed. “Apparently, I was wrong.”

She shook her head, a small smile edging at the corner of her mouth and uncrossed her arms before moving to Sherlock. “Do you love me, Sherlock?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, Molly. More than I can express, apparently.”

“And you want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

He nodded again. “There is no one else I would rather be with.”

“And you don’t want to be with anyone else? You’ll forsake any other men or women to be with me and _just_ me?”

“There is no person on the face of the earth who catches my interest as much as you,” he said, reaching for her again.

“All right then,” she said, putting her arms around his neck. “Then yes, Sherlock, I absolutely will marry you.”

He slowly grinned at her. “You will?”

She nodded. “Of course I will, you silly dolt.” She leaned in and kissed him softly. “There is a ring, isn’t there?”

“Yes, but it’s in the bedroom,” he said.

“Then maybe we should go to the bedroom and you can slip it on my finger,” she said with a laugh.

He moved his hands lower and then lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and he moved them to the bedroom while she peppered his face with kisses. He gently lowered her to the bed when they got there and she sat up as he got the ring out of the nightstand. He got on his knee and opened the box, and inside was a diamond ring set with amethysts. “Purple is your favourite colour, yes?” he asked, a bit nervously.

“Oh, Sherlock, it’s lovely,” she said with a wide smile. He slipped it onto her finger and then she kissed him, and soon he was lowering her onto the bed, the chore list forgotten. She supposed this was a better way to spend the day than arguing about a silly list. Much _much_ better...


End file.
